


You’re a Parasitic Psycho Filthy Creature Finger-Banging My Heart

by Cryptkeeper (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Desire, Explicit Sexual Content, Forest Sex, Horcrux Sex, Horcruxes, Locket Sex?, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Only Use Lube As Lube, Outdoor Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Slytherin's Locket, Spit As Lube, have safe sex kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cryptkeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a shamelessly smutty scene set during the Horcrux hunt in which a corporeal version of Tom Riddle comes out of the locket and bangs Harry Potter hard against a tree.</p><p>(AKA The author is sorry for not updating fast. Here is some smut as a gesture of sincerity.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re a Parasitic Psycho Filthy Creature Finger-Banging My Heart

**You’re a Parasitic Psycho Filthy Creature Finger-Banging My Heart By GravestonesForBoogeymen**

Sometimes Harry wonders why he is even bothering with this stupid insane quest. These fickle people don't even care about him. They want to know Harry Potter, trust Harry Potter, be saved by Harry Potter. Harry Potter is who they care about, but a little boy, just Harry, he is of no concern. Just Harry does not matter.

He feels awful when he lets himself think that Ron and Hermione and everyone else who cares for him also only care for Harry Potter.

He hates his name.

He hates his fate.

He hides shamelessly and blames every vulnerable negative and hate filled thought behind the locket. Some strange shattered version of Tom Riddle trapped in a meaningless too fancy trinket can take the blame for all his darkness and, once he has defeated Voldemort and Tom Riddle once and for all, he can do as they want and have a perfect fairytale happily ever after like he is supposed to. If he deserves nothing else it is to have a god damned happy ending when everything is over.

Ron leaves, Hermione weeps, the hunt continues. He is alone, not in the physical sense, but Hermione has not spoken to him sense her boyfriend buggered off to gods only know where like a little coward. 

This is his life.

It's cold today. The sky is grey overhead and the trees stretch out for miles dulled by the dismal weather and the shadows. There is a blanket of white snow brushed over everything, and his breath is coming out in white clouds as he stomps through the forest looking for some dryish wood for a fire, much like he has every day for the past week. Though why they cannot dry the wood with magic still escapes him. He thinks Hermione is just sending him off so she can cry in peace, so he stomps off even though he hates it.

Harry leans down to inspect another uselessly damp branch, not to see if it is dry, but to see if it is worth drying. Behind him he hears the crunch of forest jetsam and snow, he looks up and has enough time to catch sight of a shadow before he is being grabbed, spun, and slammed hard against a tree, a hand on his mouth. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose when he sees who his assailant is. Tom Riddle stands right before him, very much like he was in the diary, and very different. He looks twenty at most, his hair is longer and a little less well kept, his skin whiter, and his eyes red as the blood trailing down Harry's arm from where a branch cut it when he was thrown against the tree. He doesn't have to look at the locket around the man's neck to realize that he is the Horcrux, and he struggles against the hold the now corporeal piece of Voldemort's soul has on him. He tries to pry the horcrux's hand off his mouth, and all he gets is a dark chuckle.

Tom Riddle grins, all teeth and triumphant predatorial greed, pulls both of Harry's hands above his head, traps them with one hand, then removes his other from Harry's mouth. Harry opens his mouth to scream for Hermione, but then Riddle is grabbing him by the hair, pulling his head back, and shoving his tongue in his mouth. Harry makes a strangled surprised noise, half because a piece of Voldemort is snogging him like he is desperate, and partly because Harry isn't one hundred percent sure he would be pulling away were he able to, and the rest because this is his first real kiss aside from Ginny and Cho. And it isn't a soft tentative kiss like what the girls give. It is a hard, rough, teeth clacking, lip bruising, needy greedy thing, like he is simultaneously trying to taste the back of Harry's throat and pour all his hatred into the kiss. It is more of an attack than a kiss, and Harry can taste blood from his own cracked chapped lips against the soft ones pressed hard against his like a promise and a threat. He pulls back just long enough to give them time to breathe before Tom is diving back in.

Harry wrenches his hands loose, shoves the corporeal horcrux backwards, and then, against better judgement, backs Tom Riddle against another nearby tree and proceeds to snog him just as breathless as he had kissed Harry. He should not be doing this. He should be finding some way to destroy the Horcrux, or running for Hermione, but Tom is warm and rough and grabbing onto him like he knows how much Harry desperately craves to be held. And maybe he does. Maybe he has his power from the thoughts and nightmares Harry has poured into him since he came across the locket. Whatever happened can be thought of later, but right now Harry is moaning into the other's mouth as strong hands grip his hips and pull him closer.

"Fuck." Riddle is hissing into his ear.

"Fuck." Harry echoes in agreement.

And he is. Fucked, that is. Harry is completely and utterly fucked in this situation.

Tom flips them so that Harry is facing the tree he had only just had the horcrux trapped against, and he grinds himself against Harry deliberately. It somehow does not surprise Harry that he is not interested in foreplay. He probably only used foreplay as a tool to get information back before he became a dark lord. There is a sharp bite on his shoulder where Tom has pulled his shirt down, followed by a soft kiss on abused flesh.

"Tell me to stop." it is said like a challenge. "Tell me you don't want it."

Harry does not.

"I won't stop." Tom graciously warns.

Harry remains silent, but he thinks that when he presses back and pulls Tom Riddle's head foreward to kiss him over his shoulder, it is answer enough. He needs this. He does not care that this is a part of his mortal enemy. He does not want to die a virgin, and there is no way he would ask Hermione or Ron for help with that.

His jeans are yanked down and left to pool around his knees. Riddle grabs his hands to brace them against the rough bark of the fir tree, then trails kisses from shoulder to shoulder before he bites down again. A couple fingers are shoved into his mouth, and Harry dutifully coats them with saliva. He's doing that for Harry's sake after all. He could just shove in. Spit might not be the best lube but at least it is better than Tom fucking him without any aid to make it easier on him.

Riddle unceremoniously starts prepping him, and it burns something fierce. Harry grits his teeth and breaths through his nose as Tom strokes him to distract him from the pain. Eventually the burn becomes a bit more pleasant though, and just as he is getting used to the feeling of Tom's long curling fingers, they are gone.

Harry has just enough time to be curious before the cold air is replaced by Riddle's cock. Harry gasps loudly, let's his head thunk against the tree, and tries not to back down now that it is already too late to ask him to stop. Of course maybe he would stop if Harry asked, but Harry doesn't want to ask for in case he would not. He can bear it.

Tom Riddle has his hands on top of Harry's own on the tree, his chest pressed against Harry's back, and if the seventeen year old were to judge on his shacking tense limbs and soft harsh breathing, he would guess that he is having just as hard a time not moving as Harry is getting used to the feel of him inside him. Harry turns his head to apologize, because he kind of feels a little rude making this man wait, but Tom clearly does not realize that is why he is turning his head, because before he can speak, Tom is kissing him again, pulling him closer if at all possible.

There is a brief stillness as they just snog, but then Tom is moving experimentally, and Harry is gasping. He thinks, as he tries to distract himself from the pain, that maybe he should be feeling a lot more disgusted with himself. He is letting a part of the man who killed his parents fuck him in the forest. Somewhere else Voldemort is searching to kill him. But then Riddle hits a spot that makes him see stars and gasp out his name. Harry feels his lips curl into a smirk against his neck where he had been kissing.

"Say my name again." Riddle demands, thrusting in the exact same maddening way to hit the same spot.

"Tom!" Harry moans.

"Again." he is ordered.

And Harry does until he is begging and pleading over the sounds of harsh panting and sweat slickened skin slapping in the cold forest. It is fast, hard, and almost painful the entire time. His hands scrape against the bark of the tree. His orgasm makes his vision blur, his knees to buckle, and his breath to catch. Tom holds him tight against him as his legs collapse, pulls himself out, and then roughly jerks himself off for the last few strokes it takes before he too is coming, painting white streaks across Harry's back.

A few moments after they have straitened their clothes back out and cleaned up as best as they can, Harry turns to the corporeal soul shard.

"Why?" he asks.

Tom Riddle smirks. "Why not?" he counters unhelpfully.

Harry frowns. "How are you solid anyways?" he asks instead of trying to get an answer to why the hell the horcrux would want to fuck him. "I thought horcruxes could only get to you through your dreams."

Riddle laughs. "Poor naive little boy." he says. He leans close so that his breath is hot on Harry's face and he thinks he might kiss him again. He grabs Harry softly by his cheeks. "Whoever said that you are awake?"

As soon as those words have been spoken, Harry Potter is lurching up in his bed with a sharp gasp. He glances around the tent. Hermione is sleeping in her cot, mumbling Ron's name. Laying on his bed is the locket, and Harry would just think that it was an odd dream, were it not for his scrapped slightly splintered palms, the sharp pain in his spine, and the freezing cold of his feet.


End file.
